


Indestructable

by 401



Series: Fixing Winter [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, PTSD, Panic, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes home to Bucky in a complete state and has to stop him from giving up. He needs to fix Bucky Barnes before it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indestructable

**Author's Note:**

> I really do like feedback and tip comments as I am new to this!

Steve walked into his apartment, pitch black. And cold, freezing cold like the windows had been left open for hours in weather that was much less than forgiving. He edged along the wall before flipping his shield, leant up against the side of the fridge, onto his forearm. He could hear the ragged and forced sound of Bucky’s breathing. Adrenaline and caution coursed through him.

When Steve had left that morning, the Winter Soldier had been quiet and distant. He had been sitting in uncomfortable places, like the edge of the bathtub or the kitchen floor. Steve had caught him rubbing at his skin far too hard with that metal hand, leaving his forearms and his neck painted with little red welts. He did it when the flashbacks and the pressure of rehabilitation got too difficult. It made him feel like he was back with…them. All of the cold and discomfort and Hydra did not seem so far away and this new alien world he had been dropped into could fade a little. It was times like this when Steve struggled. They slept apart, more often than not Bucky did not sleep at all and the slightest touch made the soldier that he loved prickle with anxiety. Hearing him now made a sick feeling of unease hit Rogers.

“Buck?” He called out, leaning around the corner. His shield was poised.

There he was, sitting on the floor again, back pressed up against the kitchen cabinets and his knees drawn up to his bare chest. In the cruel November cold that was assaulting the already draughty apartment, he must have been freezing.

“Help me…” Bucky was staring off into the room, buried in his own memories. He barely said the words, just formed them emptily with his bottom lip trembling.

Steve had always noticed that Bucky’s bottom lip was adorably fuller than the top one. He had sat and watched him, nibbling down on that bottom lip whilst doing any trivial little task. It made him look younger, softened otherwise striking features. Right now it made him look vulnerable.

Steve crouched next to him on the tiles.

“You’re gonna’ stand up for me, darling,” Steve softened his voice to a near whisper to soothe the shivering assassin on his kitchen floor.

Bucky shook his head hard. He caught Steve’s hand in his metal one and the Captain grunted as Bucky twisted his wrist back far enough to force him to move.

“You need to find Bucky,” Bucky himself whispered, shaking with anxiety and tears. He let go of Steve’s aching hand and stood up.

Steve had seen this before, this disassociation. He had also seen Bucky stand like this before, shoulders set for strength and feet grounded. Ready to fight.

“Bucky’s right here,” Steve explained quietly, standing too, “Isn’t he, Babe?”

Bucky shook his head laughing through sobs. He looked at Steve with broken eyes.

“Where did he go, Steve?” he cried, “Where did I go?”

Bucky’s voice caught Steve raw in the gut. It was pleading, desperate and thick with emotional exhaustion.

Bucky picked up the photo of them that had taken centre stage on the kitchen counter since he had returned. It was the two of them during the war, in full military uniform. Steve, still thin and weighing less than the average woman as Bucky liked to point out and Bucky, a slitting grin on his gorgeous face, head tilted back slightly with a big laugh. Bucky stared at the old him. It fucking stung.

“I want to go back to this,” he mumbled, “I want to go BACK!” A scream this time, throwing the photo across the apartment so it shattered against a wall. He was standing now, each breath looking like it was kicking him in the ribs. A fine sheen of sweat was covering his bare chest despite the colds and Steve could hear the metal disks in his left arm whirring to recalibrate against his clenched fist.

“Come,” Steve offered his arms, open and safe, “Come and sit down.”

Bucky felt into a strange state of unfamiliar subordination that Steve only saw when he was this distressed. He lost so much face and strength as he crossed the space between them that he practically toppled into Steve’s arms. He sat them down at the dining table.

“Do you love me?” Bucky asked, looking up at the Captain with wet, red eyes, wide and tired.

“With my whole heart, you know that,” Steve replied.

Bucky held Steve’s hands and stared at him desperately.

“End this, please,” he choked, “I can’t do this anymore, Steve.”

Steve faltered. Bucky was asking him to kill him.

“Steve, they did what they wanted,” Bucky groaned. “They made me indestructible so no I have to live like this…”

Bucky’s sobs were racking his whole frame now. Sometimes they would gloss off into weak screams of frustration deep in his chest.

“Stevie, please make this stop,” Bucky begged, choking on air.

Steve pushed his face into the top of Bucky’s head to hold together his own countenance.

“They made you indestructible,” Steve started. Bucky stared up at him with pleading eyes, “So you can do this, don’t let them win.”  


Bucky crashed his head into Steve’s chest hard enough that he felt his collarbone crunch, but he was beyond pain, physical pain anyway.

He was cradling the man he loved in his arms, listening to him beg for death. This, for the Captain, epitomised everything that Hydra stood for. A lack of control, chaos and desperation.

“I’m tired, Steve,” Bucky breathed, “I’m so tired of fighting.”  


Bucky lifted his head. He did look tired. His hair was uncombed and he still had not cut it. His eyes were shadowed with the darkness caused by years away from the sun and in isolation. Even though he had been free for weeks, he still looked like the assassin Steve had fought on the bridge.

“Stop fighting then, Buck,” Steve whispered, lips against his ear and his hand on the soldier’s head, holding him tight. “Let go.”

Bucky relaxed a little. “Can you do that thing for me, that Natasha showed you?”

Steve sighed, willing to do just about anything to calm Barnes. He lifted him onto his shaky feet and started the process that was only things they had found that could make Bucky sleep. He rocked the soldier gently from right to left, like a slow dance. He pushed a strong thumb under the ‘shoulder blade’ of Bucky’s metal arm and twisted hard until the muscles deep inside shifted and Steve hit that nerve. Bucky shuddered, becoming instantly heavier in Steve’s arms, panting and making a noise that reminded Steve of something much different. Bucky slipped comfortably into unconsciousness, tranquilised by Natasha Romanov’s excellent Sleeper Hold.

“See you in the morning, gorgeous,” Steve kissed the shoulder’s cheek before lying him on the couch.

The Captain ran his hand over his tired eyes before sitting down too, and setting his mind onto ways to fix Bucky Barnes.

 


End file.
